Prince of Elsweyr
by ElfDavis
Summary: The son of the Mane of Elsweyr is being forced to take on the throne when his father is sick. He knows this is too much responsibility and runs away with Sovani, the only Khajiit he can truly trust. But he is not given such a warm welcome as he reaches Skyrim. He is separated from Sovani and must find his way back to her no matter the cost. AU. Prologue up!


**A/N: I needed a little break with my current fanfictions, so I decided to write a little bit of Khajiit lore. Some of this might go right over some of your heads because hell, I didn't even know about any of this stuff until I looked it up on the Elder Scrolls wiki. So this may be a learning experience for everyone here! **

**I'll put in any extra things at the end of the chapter such as little disclaimers or other things you will need to know before we continue. Thanks for clicking on my story! Read and review, my lovelies.**

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**Prologue**

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It is said that all of life started with a woman disobeying her husband. It is also said that the most beautiful race was never meant to be. At least, that is how most Nords and Argonians put it. But it is not true. The truth is that the beautiful god Azurah took a child of Nirni's and formed it into the cleverest, quickest, and most beautiful race of all. Khajiit. At least, that is how Sovani put it. And R'azha always believed what Sovani said. Now, R'azha wasn't terribly religious, nor did he really care much for what his Elders taught him. He only wished to survive. And to leave.

Leaving was his priority. Now, one may question why he would want to leave Elsweyr, the one place Khajiit could be without being called 'carpet' or 'rug' or a 'cheatin' lyin' drug dealin' vermin'. R'azha loved Elsweyr. He did. It wasn't the most beautiful place, but it sufficed. The jungles were nice...if one was careful to avoid any poisonous creatures and/or plants. And one could grow to love the desert...if they were alright with their fur clumping from the constant heat and their toes being burned from the intense hotness of Elsweyr sand. The more he thought about it, the more R'azha began to hate his home. What made it worse was that the intense heat and the carnivorous flowers weren't what made him want to leave in the first place. It was his father. His father was not ruthless, no. Well...not all of the time. Not ruthless to his followers, at least. Yes. Followers.

Of all of the hundreds of thousands of Khajiit families he could have been born into...he had to be born into the Mane's. The Mane was the best of the best. The most unique Khajiit of all. The most renowned. Every Khajiit knew who the Mane was. Even other races knew of the Mane. The Mane was like the High King to Khajiit.

The Mane was always male. The Mane was special because he was born on the night where both moons, Masser and Secunda, were full and both aligned with each other, making a rarely seen third moon. In fact, it was so rare, that it only happens once in a lifetime. There is only ever one Mane. When the Mane dies, it can be expected that the next Mane would be born within three days time. And of course...R'azha had to be his only son. The Mane, also known as Dar'zha, had only ever wanted a son. In all his years of living he had had around nine to eleven wives. R'azha didn't know the exact number, though he had heard that his father had even had twenty wives who could only bear daughters. But once he was born, he stopped searching for a Khajiit who could bear a son. He had spared the life of the runty Suthay Khajiit and allowed her to remain his wife and even stay in the castle with him. After several years, he had even begun to love her to the point of obsession. He loved his son just as much. That is, until the day she was murdered by some Cathay-raht assassin. After that? Dar'zha never smiled. Never again said that he loved his son. Nor anything, really. He had once been so devoted to his title as Mane and leader of Elsweyr, but now? He only laid in bed. Slowly getting sicker and sicker and more and more frail. But he would not die. No no. His father was much to stubborn to die. But now that his father was not well enough to rule, and there was no other Mane obviously, the responsibility was being pushed onto young R'azha, who was only one hundred and ninety two moons old. Or as a Nord would say it...sixteen years old.

Obviously, this was too much for R'azha, to which he confessed to his wife. This is where Sovani comes in. She wasn't about to let him leave his life. For several weeks she refused to even talk to him. But finally, she had begun to see his side. It was soon after this that the two had begun to formulate a plan on how to escape the guards of the palace and finally leave Elsweyr.

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The way had been rough, filled with bandits and skooma dealers and other risks of the sort. But after nearly a year of travel, the two royals found themselves smack in the center of Tamriel. Skyrim. Sovani had heard of a fighter's guild known as the Companions there, who were founded by the legendary Ysgramor. She had said that they were an indiscriminate group of warriors that were quite hospitable to those who needed shelter. And so, Whiterun had been their target destination. Unknowing of where Whiterun would be, they stopped in the nearest Hold they could find for food and directions. That being Riften. Before they had even walked through the front gate, they had to be stopped and be frisked for skooma or moon sugar. One of the guards had even taken Sovani's meager bag of seven septims just because he knew he could. The other guard had grabbed hold of one of R'azha's several piercings along his long, tufted ears and ripped it out, earning a shrill shriek from the young Khajiit. Sovani gasped loudly and tried to spring at the guard, but was grabbed by a different one.

"Do you not know who it is you assault, guards of Riften Hold? That is the son of The Mane!" Sovani exclaimed. The guards paused for a moment before laughing.

"My apologies, _Prince_. We didn't know." One sneered, giving a mock bow before R'azha. The other guard laughed.

"Perhaps we should see how royal he feels working on one of the farms, yeah?"

"Oh yeah. And that bitch can go to Mistveil Keep. Maybe they'll be able to make a rug out of that mangy fur." He chuckled cruelly, beginning to drag Sovani toward the front gates. Sovani screamed in terror, trying to claw her way out of the guard's grasp. But being only one hundred and sixty eight moons old (or more commonly known by Nords as 14), she was not very strong yet. R'azha tried to fight his way past the now several guards that surrounded him, but ultimately failed, earning only a sharp whack to the skull with a club and then pitch blackness.

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**A/N: So yeah. A lot happened in one short prologue. There was very little dialogue mostly because I'm leading up to the beginning of the story with as much informative information as possible. **

**Okay, first of all: I know that Khajiit were not enslaved in Skyrim, only in Morrowind. But I know nothing of Morrowind and was much too lazy to read up on it. **

**Another thing: My timing is probably so off it's not even funny. This is happening quite a long time before the Dragonborn is even born, and I honestly have no idea who the high king would be at this time. Same with the Jarls of the holds. I'll just be going by what wiki says or I'll just make up random names because I freaking can and it's my fanfiction. XD This fanfiction is going to be prominently AU, and may loosely follow some sort of small war or even something similar to the Theives' Guild or Companions. Haven't quite decided yet! If you have any preferences, PM me or just put it in the review!**

**-Elf**

**(P.S. I promise the chapters will be longer after this. This is, after all, just a prologue. :D) **


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